


Sherlock: Not What He Had Planned

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being pressed into a mattress by a very sexy doctor wasn’t what Lestrade had planned for the evening. But he’s not complaining</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: Not What He Had Planned

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.

‘Jesus fuck, John!’

Okay, not how DI Lestrade had planned on spending his evening... or morning. Although being pushed heavily into a mattress by a short, funny and devilishly sexy doctor is a good way to spend the night... or morning, whatever. Really, Lestrade wasn’t sure how it happened. No, scratch that, he knew full well how the fuck it had happened.

It was all Sherlock Holmes’ fault, really. Or should Lestrade be thanking him? Sherlock had, of course, got himself into some trouble and ended up in the hospital. Though he said he was fine the doctors disagreed. A short word from Mycroft Holmes had Sherlock knocked out on morphine in a hospital bed for the night.

Lestrade and John Watson (who Lestrade had to admit was a pretty good looking bloke) had both been worn out, tired, dragged along after a genius sociopath for twelve hours. It was three in the morning and both were dead on their feet.

John, of course, still found a way to care more about everyone else than himself. He asked how Mycroft was, chatted with the nurses, and even managed a smile when Donovan said he looked like shit. Finally he’d turned to Lestrade and asked, ‘You alright?’

No, he wasn’t alright. He was tired, hungry, fucking miserable and needed a strong cup of tea before hitting the sack. Baker Street was closer, John said so himself, so an hour later Lestrade was dragging himself into the flat behind John.

John made tea and they sat on the couch, both too tired to move. It was a few minutes before Lestrade realised he and John were pressed up against each other. It was a good ten minutes before he realised he quite liked it; John was warm, his jumper fuzzy, and really how did anybody manage to look _that_ good in a jumper at four am?

The doctor was sipping his tea and staring into space, long fingers wrapped around his mug. Lestrade stared at those fingers, wondering what they’d feel like in his hair, on his hips, grabbing his–

Okay, step back, since when the fuck did Lestrade fantasise about John Watson? Well, if the DI was being honest (and he was in his own head so why the hell not?) he’d always noticed that John Watson was handsome. And he was funny, smart, caring and had unending patience when it came to a certain fucking insane individual who claimed he was a genius. And yes, maybe (just maybe) there were nights when Lestrade dreamed about the doctor’s fingers on his own... or more honestly on certain body parts of his.

Lestrade swallowed and finally tore his eyes away from John. He focused instead on the skull sitting on the mantel. (Really, Sherlock had a fucking skull... did nobody else think that was weird?) Lestrade spent a good few minutes eyeing the skull, thinking it was glaring at him; glaring for fantasising about John Watson in such inappropriate ways. But he was tired, okay? He’d been up two days, alright? He hadn’t eaten since the previous morning and that had only been a muffin. He’d been running on coffee and adrenalin. He was allowed to crash by imagining John Watson fucking him, wasn’t he?

‘Lestrade?’

‘Mm?’ Lestrade blinked, turning to look at the doctor. John looked just as tired as him. ‘What?’

‘I don’t think I’ll make it upstairs.’

Lestrade smiled. ‘You? What about me? I’m stuck here for the night... or morning. And you just know my mobile will call in the next ten minutes.’

John sipped his tea. ‘I told Mycroft to make sure you weren’t disturbed until at least tonight.’

‘What?’

John smiled that casual, charming, fucking sexy smile that Lestrade now realised he really, really liked. ‘You heard me; you’re not _that_ tired.’

‘I am.’

The doctor chuckled. ‘You need sleep, Lestrade.’

‘I need sex,’ Lestrade replied before he could stop himself. John’s eyebrows raised and Lestrade found himself blushing. ‘I... shit, sorry, I didn’t... I’m tired, that just slipped out. I erm, sleep; I need sleep...’

John continued to watch him as he trailed off, blood managing to pool in his cheeks. Why was John staring at him like that? Slowly the doctor put his mug on the table and reached over for Lestrade’s. The DI let him, thinking John would run screaming from the room. Because really, they didn’t know each other _that_ well. A few conversations, some flirting (yeah, Lestrade couldn’t help himself when it came to Dr Watson), some swapped stories about Sherlock’s insaneness... none of that warranted Lestrade suddenly blurting that he was horny.

John stood and Lestrade looked up at him. ‘I think I can help you.’

Lestrade didn’t understand (he was bloody tired, alright?) and just stared.

‘Lestrade?’

‘I... huh?’

‘I can help you,’ John repeated and reached down to grab Lestrade’s arm. He tugged the DI up so they were very, very close. ‘With both those things.’

‘I... what?’

John smiled. ‘You need sleep...’ he said softly and ran his fingers along Lestrade’s crumpled shirt. ‘And I’ve heard that sex can make you very, very tired.’

Before Lestrade knew it John was dragging him upstairs. He was pushed into the doctor’s bed and John straddled his hips, leaning down to kiss him heatedly. It took Lestrade a second to kiss back but when he did John was moaning. He began unbuttoning Lestrade’s shirt and managed to tear it free before tugging his own jumper and shirt off.

‘J-John,’ Lestrade moaned and ran his fingers through the doctor’s short brown-blonde hair. ‘God.’

‘Do you want me to fuck you?’

‘Yes,’ Lestrade begged.

John nodded and slipped off the bed. He kicked his shoes and socks off before wrestling with his belt. Finally he managed to get his trousers and underwear down, revealing his throbbing erection.

‘Jesus,’ Lestrade groaned as John worked on the DI’s pants, managing to remove every item of clothing in under a minute.

John pulled lube from his dresser and slathered his cock before mounting Lestrade again. He forced the DI’s legs aside and Lestrade moaned in anticipation.

‘Please,’ Lestrade begged.

John chuckled and bit his lip as he forced his way in.

It really had been too long. Lestrade moaned as John’s cock pushed at his muscles, pain mingling with the pleasure as John stretched him out. John began thrusting immediately, each push hitting his prostate with precision. Lestrade knew he wasn’t going to last long and started stroking his own cock, an orgasm building in his gut.

Lestrade came first, spraying his stomach and hand in come. ‘Jesus fuck, John!’ he shouted as the doctor pushed him deeply into the mattress.

‘Greg,’ John moaned as he spilled into the DI, shuddering as his cock leaked.

Panting and fumbling followed as John slipped out, Lestrade groaning softly. They fell onto the bed and somehow John managed to get the covers up over them. Neither cared that they were both wet and sticky.

John wrapped his arms around Lestrade and pulled him in for a soft kiss. ‘Sleep,’ he murmured.

Lestrade did.

 

{oOo}

 

Memories of the previous night crashed over Lestrade as he woke. He turned slowly to see that John was still holding him. The doctor was already awake and he just stared at Lestrade, looking well-rested and completely satisfied.

‘That was... a surprise,’ Lestrade managed.

John smiled. ‘A nice one.’

‘Yeah, well...’

‘How long have you wanted to do that?’

‘Huh?’

John laughed. ‘Greg, I can tell when a guy wants me. And while I was fucking you... well, you wanted it before last night.’ He stopped to stroke Greg’s cheek softly. ‘How long?’

Greg bit his lip. ‘I dunno, really. I... you’re hot.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And nice.’

‘Thank you.’

‘A bloody good shag.’

The doctor’s body shook as he laughed. ‘Honestly, Greg, I’ve wanted it for a long time too.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ John said. ‘I just... I didn’t know if you would want me.’

‘How could I not?’ Greg said. ‘You’re handsome, smart, funny, and you live with Sherlock; you’re practically a fucking saint.’

John smiled warmly.

‘John?’

‘Mm?

‘What... what do we do now?’

‘Well...’ John said slowly and propped himself up on one elbow. ‘I say we get cleaned up, have something to eat, and then you fuck me as hard as you can.’ Greg chuckled. ‘And then later in the week we’re going on a date.’

‘A date?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘You... you want to date me?’

John rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, idiot.’

Greg grinned and leaned forward to kiss him softly before allowing John to drag him from bed for a shower.

Not the way Greg had planned on spending his day... or his night. But bending John over in the shower, pushing him against the wall, was a very, very good way to spend his time.

‘Jesus fuck, John!’

 

 

{THE END}

 

 


End file.
